The Art of Holding On and Letting Go (15 page)

“I wanted to name it Cocoa,” Kaitlyn said in a little girl voice.

I smiled, picturing the puppy named Cocoa. “I used to have a dog, Tahoe. She was a husky. But she died three years ago. She was really old, fourteen.”

“Did you have her since you were a kid?” Kaitlyn asked.

“She was my dad's dog before I was even born.”

“A husky, now that's a dog,” Kaitlyn's dad said.

Kaitlyn's mom was shaking her head.

“Mom has something more like a Chihuahua in mind.” Kaitlyn and her dad wrinkled their noses and frowned.

I agreed. Tahoe was no yippy lapdog.

Kaitlyn drove me home later in the morning. My next driver's ed class was at one o'clock.

“I don't think your mom's ready to be an empty nester if she wants a dog,” I said.

“Tell me about Tahoe,” Kaitlyn said. “I've wanted one forever.”

“She was really sweet. My dad named her Tahoe because he always wanted to move out West. And she was great in the mountains. We had a little doggy backpack for her, and she carried her own water and stuff.”

“Now that's cool.”

“Yeah, but it was really sad when she got old. She limped and shuffled around, and had cataracts so bad, she could hardly see.”

“Aw.”

“One morning, she couldn't walk at all. My dad carried her to the car, and we drove out to one of our favorite spots, a rocky clearing with a view of the gorge. Tahoe stretched out on a ledge and closed her eyes.”

“Oh my God, she died right there?”

“No. The rocks were warm from the sun, but a cool breeze drew up from the depths of the gorge. The wind ruffled her fur, and she looked so peaceful. We carried her back home, and she died in her sleep that night.”

“Oh, I'm going to cry,” Kaitlyn said. She waved her hand in front her face, her eyes tearing.

“Yeah, she was a good dog.”

“That's the way I want to go,” Kaitlyn said.

Tahoe's death was the way it should happen. She lived a full life, and we were there with her right up to the end. We buried her in the woods near our cabin, beside a giant fir tree, and marked the grave with a small cairn, carefully balancing the stones.

That pyramid-shaped cairn on Mount Chimborazo, stones piled as tall as me. Uncle's Max's life had been snatched away in a terrifying instant, without a funeral or a body to bury. Did my parents add a rock to the cairn at Chimborazo for him? The thought made me light-headed, and I closed my eyes.

I slipped my hand into my jacket pocket and rubbed the smooth little stone I had taken from near the cairn. At the time, it had felt like some kind of protection, a way to ensure that my parents and Uncle Max were still alive. Now, it felt like the only piece of them that I could hold on to.

The brakes on Kaitlyn's car groaned and screeched as she stopped in front of my grandparents' house.

“I know, Beast, it's so sweet and sad,” Kaitlyn said, patting the steering wheel.

I opened my eyes and steadied myself as I scooted out of the car. My legs felt wobbly. If this is what a hangover felt like, I wanted none of it.

“Don't forget, climbing gym tomorrow,” Kaitlyn said. “Miss Indiana She-Jones. There's gotta be a sound track. I'm going to look it up when I get to work!”

In the Road Rules driver's ed classroom, I sat in the seat behind Tom. He turned around, raised his eyebrows and smiled. I had a sudden impulse to reach out and touch the faint scar on his lip. I wanted to ask how he had gotten it, but I just smiled back, then moved my gaze to the instructor. Mr. Demetrios was huge, like a pro wrestler, with a booming voice.

“This is it, your first day to hit the road. Car number one: Nathan, Keith, and Elizabeth. Car number two: Cara, Trudy, and Tom.”

My heartbeat quickened. I wasn't particularly nervous about driving, just driving with Tom in the same car. The two older women, Trudy and Elizabeth, exchanged rueful smiles; they'd been hoping to be together.

Tom must have noticed their look too. “I can switch to the other car if you want, so you two can be together.”

My heart beat even faster. I wanted him to go, but I wanted him to stay too.

Elizabeth nodded and started to speak.

“Oh no, it's okay,” Trudy interrupted her. “We better do what the teacher says.”

She winked at me so fast I barely caught it. I flushed.

Tom looked at Elizabeth. “You sure?”

Elizabeth interpreted a knowing look from Trudy. “I'll be fine. You go ahead. Those other boys look like they need a mother in their car.” She smiled and left to join her group.

I got Tom but also Mr. Demetrios—he sent his assistant off to the other car. I cringed. I could already imagine him yelling at me.

I was chosen to drive first, and Trudy and Tom sat in the back. Mr. Demetrios pointed out the mirror adjustments, turn signal, and how to switch gears. Thick black hair covered his forearms and hands, even his knuckles. A nervous giggle escaped from Trudy in the backseat. I forced myself not to turn around and peek at Tom.

“What are you waiting for, young lady?” Mr. Demetrios said, pointing straight ahead. “Drive.”

I pulled out of the parking space, and switched the right blinker on, waiting for a car to pass. I turned onto the street and cruised down the right lane, keeping my speed steady at forty.
Oh yeah, I got this
.

The stoplight ahead turned from green to yellow. My foot hovered between the gas and the brake. Red! I slammed on the brakes.

Mr. Demetrios slapped his palm against the dashboard and barked, “Should have gone through it. Take the next left.”

I waited in the left turn lane at the next light, green, but too many oncoming cars. Yellow, still more cars. Red.

“Go!”

I hit the gas and squealed around the corner, oncoming cars taking their left turns out of the corner of my eye.

I glanced in the rearview mirror and met Tom's gaze. His eyes were wide. Could this be any more embarrassing?

“Pull into this parking lot. Blinker on!”

I found a wide, open space and jerked to a stop.

“In the back,” he said to me. “You,” he pointed to Tom, “up front.” Tom puffed out his cheeks and released a loud breath as we switched places.

He kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror. His eyes crinkled into a smile, and sometimes he'd raise his eyebrows.

“Eyes on the road,” Mr. Demetrios grunted.

But I kept my eyes on him, and soon his brow was furrowed, like he was intensely concentrating. And he drove really slowly. Cars zoomed around us at every intersection.

“Give it some gas, Granny.”

What a jerk.
I glared at the bald spot on the back of Mr. Demetrios's head and exchanged a look with Trudy. She bit her lip.

I tried to be ready to smile reassuringly in case Tom looked at me in the rearview mirror again, but his brow furrowed even deeper. When his turn was up, he slumped in the seat and let out another long breath.

Trudy moved to the driver's seat, and Tom slid into the back next to me.

“Whew.” He spread his long legs out to the sides. His knee bumped mine, but neither of us moved.

I peeked sideways. The small scar on his lip almost disappeared when he smiled. I lowered the window halfway to let the breeze cool my burning skin.

“Windows up!” Mr. Demetrios barked.

I grimaced at Tom and we burst out laughing. Mr. Demetrios was going to yell at us again, but it didn't matter, there was no holding it in. We grinned at each other through the rest of the ride.

After the lesson, I walked with Tom to the front of the building where Grandpa would be picking me up.

“Hey, I brought you something.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a beaded bracelet. “This is what I was telling you about. From Brazil. The acai beads.”

The beads were speckled shades of cream and brown with spidery lines. “Wow, it does look a lot like mine.”

Tom slid the acai bracelet over my wrist. “Now you have two.”

I encircled my hand around my wrist. “Oh no, I can't take it. I thought it was your mom's?”

“Don't worry, I asked her if it was okay. My dad gave it to her a long time ago, but they're divorced now.”

“I'm sorry.”

Tom shrugged and stuffed his fists into his pockets.

“How old were you when they divorced?”

“Ten. Fifth grade. It's okay. My dad has always traveled a ton for GM. It's really not that different now, even holidays aren't hard to share because my mom's Jewish and my dad's Catholic.”

“Wow. So which are you?

“I don't know. They've kind of left it up to me. So, I'm a little bit of both, but not really either one. And I always have a mix of Yiddish and Spanish in my head.”

He moved his hands like mouths talking to each other. “Meshugna,” the right hand said to the left. “Loco,” he said, twirling his finger beside his head.

I laughed. The shining sun turned his eyes to the color of honey. “So, Torres is—”

“Mexican, but my dad grew up here. Chicano.”

I nodded and fiddled with the bracelets, the tagua beads rubbing against the acai beads. So similar, almost the same size and colors, with their own unique swirls. They looked like they were meant to go together.

“I get to see my dad this week. I have dinner with him every Wednesday if he's in town. It's our pupusa night.”

“
Pupusa
?”

“You've never had pupusas?” He said it with a heavy Spanish accent.

I laughed again, shaking my head. “Is it like a taco?”

“Oh, you are missing out. Salvadoran. Delicioso.” He rubbed his stomach. “I'll take you to the pupusaria sometime.”

“
Pupusaria?”

“Ooh, nice rolling r's. Tú hablas Español
?
”

“Un poco.”

Tom paused at the bike rack and unlocked a mountain bike.
“
Bicicleta.”

“Sí.” I couldn't stop laughing. “I know that one.”

“Hasta mañana,” he said, wheeling his bike away.

“Hasta mañana.” I held up my wrist with the bracelets. “Muchas gracias por el … beads, bracelet!”

“Pulsera de cuentas! De nada.”

He threw his leg over his bike and pedaled off. I watched until he turned the corner, looking back at me with a wave.

“
Pulsera de cuentas
.
Pupusaria,” I repeated the words softly, rolling my
r
's, smiling to myself. “Pupusarrrria.”

I was so distracted by Tom that I went along with Kaitlyn's plan to go to the climbing gym. When she picked me up, Nick was already in the car, but he moved to the backseat to let me sit up front. He was dressed in his usual getup, all black with a hemp-rope necklace. I couldn't tell if he was wearing eyeliner. Maybe his eyelashes were just super thick and dark. It looked like he had spent a lot of time making his hair look messed up. Kaitlyn was wearing a black T-shirt and leggings but no dark makeup. Her hair was pulled back into two low braids, revealing a few stray red strands at the nape.

“I'm just here for observation purposes. And moral support,” Kaitlyn said, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye.

“Come on, you have to climb,” Nick said.

“If I'm climbing, you're climbing,” I said. Had I decided I was actually climbing? If I did, I was only planning on doing the bare minimum. I wasn't a circus performer. If anyone thought I was putting on a show, they were wrong.

“I'm afraid of heights,” Kaitlyn said.

Nick rolled his eyes. “Please.”

“What do you know?”

“You're a natural,” Nick said. “You just don't know it yet. And if you weren't planning on climbing, how come you didn't put on your face?”

Kaitlyn looked at Nick in the rearview mirror and stuck out her tongue.

“I wasn't saying you looked bad or anything. You've got the whole pale glamour thing going on.”

At Planet Granite, Kaitlyn gave Nick a shove and said, “Hope your eyeliner is waterproof.”

“Maybe you should dye your hair blonde to match your real eyelashes,” Nick said.

They continued their banter all the way inside, but I had stopped listening. A parade was marching in my chest heading down to the pit of my stomach. Get a grip, Cara! It wasn't like I was about to compete or anything. I didn't have to impress anyone. It was just climbing. Just like always. Nothing had changed.

But that wasn't true. Everything had changed.

Nick's brother was working behind the counter, wearing his usual smirk. “Hey bro,” he said as Nick approached.

The smirk must be a family trait or something. But Nate, Nick's brother, didn't have Nick's dimples to soften the look. Even when he was being nice, he still looked like a jerk.

Nick had a pass and his own gear. Kaitlyn continued to say she wasn't actually climbing.

“Put on a harness and shoes to get a feel for it,” I said. “Then I can teach you how to belay, but you don't have to actually climb if you don't want to.”

She wore a size seven shoe, same as me. I should have thought to bring her my extra pair.

“These shoes are so gross,” Kaitlyn said. “How can you guys stand wearing them without socks?”

Then again, maybe it was a good thing I hadn't offered my extra pair. “It's different when it's your own sweat,” Nick said. He stuck his nose in his shoe and inhaled.

Kaitlyn wrinkled her nose. “You. Are. Disgusting.”

We headed into the climbing area. Instead of stressing me out like the time I came with Grandpa, the sweaty chalk smell felt like home. My body was truly itching to climb. I pulled my fingers backward to stretch my wrists.

“There's a new 5.10 route over there called Bliss,” Nick said. “Stupid name, but it looks good. Might be kind of reachy for you two shorties though.”